


It's All Just A Perfect Memory

by hellosorry



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abbie keener - Freeform, Agh You Guys Are Just Going To Have To Figure Some Of This Stuff Out, Angst, Blackmail, Brainwashing, Emotional Abuse, Harley Is Gay, Harley Is Genderqueer, Harley Is Pepper Potts's Foster Kid, Harry Osborn Is In Love With Peter Parker, Harry Osborn Is Not A Good Guy, Harry/Peter At The Beginning But Eventual Harley/Peter, Julia Carpenter is Spider-Woman (Arachne), Lots Of Characters From The Comics, M/M, Manipulation, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Is Steve Roger's And Tony Stark's Adoptive Son, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Secret Identities, This Is Giving Me Anxiety, Toxic Relationships, at all, how does one tag, kind of, peter is 19, peter is bi, slow-burn, sorry - Freeform, whatsoever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 22:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosorry/pseuds/hellosorry
Summary: Tony Stark was assassinated when his son was only seven years old. Steve Rogers was ruled an unfit parent not even a month later. Now Peter's 19. His foster mom's dead, his biological parents are dead, Tony's dead, everybody is DEAD.Steve's not. Steve's innocent. Steve has been manipulated. Peter is being manipulated.There's something wrong, and neither of them want any more death.Right?





	It's All Just A Perfect Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Umm so first off I would like to apologize-- I personally really like this, and I swear that I have not included any original characters or anything, it's all from the comics and the movies. However, with that comic bit, I have only read a select few of the comic books, meaning that I am by no means an expert on the characters that I pulled. Using these characters-- it's necessary, for the plot line, but I have to warn you: it's kind of more on the original side. And I know that people don't usually like original stuff in their fanfiction, so I've done my best to stay true to the original material, but I am really really bad at doing that. Many apologies!!!
> 
> \--TRIGGER WARNINGS--  
PTSD  
Toxic relationships  
Emotional abuse  
Blackmail  
Undertones of rape  
Politics  
Probably mentions of racism and sexism  
Violence  
Suicidal thoughts  
Depression  
Anxiety  
Panic attacks  
Swearing  
\--  
Not all of these are going to occur in this chapter, but this is just a little forward of what to expect. At the beginning of each chapter I'll put a more specific list of what happens chapter to chapter.
> 
> I would like to thank all of the people who at least tried to snap me out of it when I was being a depression-and-anxiety-ridden fool and for not getting mad at me even when I broke like at least a bajillion deadlines.
> 
> Anywho, on to the story now!!! Thank you to any who actually read this, I know I don't!!!

The cool air of early morning reminded him of decay and gravedigging. An early morning plot in a far away plot with white roses that matched those at a long-ago wedding. But that--  _ none _ of that mattered now. 12 years was a long time. 

Steve inhaled, in and out. It smelled like clover. It smelled ominous, but he didn’t know why. Was something bad going to happen? His instincts were telling him yes. Logic said no. He was with Natasha. How could anything bad happen with Natasha?

“Right now? You want me to go  _ right now _ ? Right now right now?” Steve asked.

Natasha looked up at him. “Is there a problem?”

He had therapy in an hour, a check-in just to make sure this whole “becoming a superhero again” thing was going okay. Did that count as a problem?

“No, of course not. I just-- I thought I might have some more time to prepare, you know? My first mission in so long. It just-- nevermind. What’s the mission?” he said, cutting himself off from his own thoughts. They weren’t leading anywhere productive.

Natasha opened her mouth to say something, probably to ask him if he was okay (he wasn’t), but then changed her mind and pointed to a nearby bench. “Let’s go sit down,” she said.

Central Park sunrises were spectacular from the sitting down angle. The mixture of trees, trails, and the ability to relax-- he was pretty sure that it did something to color. Made it more vibrant. Required brighter paint. 

Natasha fiddled with her phone, pulling up some sort of document with lots of charts and graphs and pictures.

“Did you make a…” he trailed off, unsure of the word he was looking for. Something that started with a p? He didn’t know. Technology gave him a headache.

“A Powerpoint? Yes, I made a Powerpoint,” she said. “Now pay attention. You’ve been off the grid for a while, so how much do you heard about this new superhero group, the Rooks, I think they’re called?”

“I’ve been living in the suburbs, not ‘off the grid’, Tasha,” Steve sighed. Literally, Kensington was in  _ Brooklyn _ . Not exactly the middle of nowhere. 

“Yeah, yeah, pot-ay-to, po-tah-to, get over it. How much do you know?” she continued, completely unperturbed. 

“Eh, decent amount? All my information is from the news. They’re supposed to be good.” Green Goblin, Arachne, Jackal, Shriek, Spider-Man. Superheroes, in their own right.

Natasha’s leg was bouncing up and down, although if it was from excitement or worry, he couldn’t tell. It was making the bench shake, and Steve wanted to ask her to stop, but he also didn’t want to die. He decided to leave it alone. 

“Yeah,  _ supposed  _ to be. Steve-- they stop disasters, they prevent catastrophes. They save the day and stop the bad guy. They are the  _ definition  _ of perfect heroes-- except for one thing. They don’t  _ catch _ the bad guys. Not legally, at least. They don’t turn the bad guys into the police. These supervillains-- once the Rooks stops them, they disappear. Forever,” she said, pulling up some sort of chart. “Look. That’s last January’s number of reported supervillain sightings. See? One hundred and fourteen. Pretty average for the past. And here’s this January’s, three months after these guys made their first appearance. The number’s twelve. Twelve supervillain sightings. In a month. In the most populated city in America.” She had a gleam in her eye, the vaguely demonic and frightening one that she always got when she had latched onto something. There was no going back now. Not until she got answers. 

“You want me to find out what’s happening to them. How?” he asked. He didn’t know if this was true, what Natasha was telling him. Peter worked for that one paper-- the Daily Bugle-- the one that did all it’s reporting on the Rooks. The new editor-- Julia Carpenter-- she seemed smart. She would have noticed by now if something was wrong. And… Peter wouldn’t choose to work there if they were hiding something from the public. Right? 

He was invested in this now, but the Rooks couldn’t be behind it. They  _ couldn’t.  _ Peter  _ knew  _ Spider-Man. He wouldn’t--

Natasha smiled. “You know how.”

No. Nononono. No  _ way. _

“Tasha,  _ no. No.  _ I’m not-- I won’t.” What was it that Sam had taught him? 4 things he could see, 3 things he could he hear, 2 things he could feel. He was pretty sure those numbers were wrong. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?  _ Breathe, Steve, breathe.  _ “How do we  _ know  _ that they’re are behind this? How can we be sure? There could be another explanation.” 

“There... could be. But a couple of weeks ago, one of the Hell’s Kitchen vigilantes was making some noise. Said that someone at least  _ resembling  _ Arachne had come and barged into the fight she was having. Stole the bad guy right under her nose when they were done. Don’t you read the monthly reports I send you?” 

“No. I don’t read any of my mail. I stopped, a while ago. And that’s still not concrete evidence,” he said. 

“I know. I know it’s not. But it’s the only evidence I have. I need to  _ know _ , Steve. I just… I need to  _ know _ .” There was an unfortunate line of longing in her posture. He couldn’t help her. He just… he  _ couldn’t. _

“Tasha, I  _ can’t _ ,” Steve said. His voice broke. 

“Please, Steve. I know you don’t want to, but I’m begging you.” Natasha wouldn’t have asked him unless she had no other option. That much he knew. But--

“Natasha, you  _ know-- _ ” he gasped. Natasha cut him off, hand in the air and a furious look of concern plastered in her eyes. 

“I know that you love him, Steve. I know that he’s your son. I know that he has information that we--” she paused. Steve wasn’t on board yet. “That  _ I  _ need. That’s what I know, Steve. What do you know?” 

For the first time in a very long time, Steve thought he saw something a bit like hope in Nat. It was weird, but it somehow fit. And he didn’t want to crush it, but he had to.

“I’m not going after Peter,” he said, soft and quiet. 

Natasha looked like she was breaking. Shutting down, like some sort of almost-dead battery. Hope was replaced by steely determination and her half-smile turned stern.

“Fine. Okay. I’ll do it myself,” she responded. Her voice was clipped. Staccato. 

Panic rose into his chest, tightening and threatening everything. He had only just gotten Natasha back into his life, only just slid back into that old, easy friendship they had always had. He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t lose anybody again.

“Tasha,  _ please.  _ Don’t pursue this.  _ Please _ ,” he said.

She was hurt, he could tell. Her fists were clenched, face red, brown eyes hurt. Betrayed. Steve couldn’t blame her. He  _ wouldn’t  _ blame her. But he also couldn’t let her go after Peter. The last time he had let her go after someone, that person had almost ended up dead.

“I have to, Steve.”

Dear god, was she crying? Had he made her cry? He couldn’t--

“Why is this so important to you? Please, just leave it alone. They’re doing good. Just-- leave Peter alone.” Peter.  _ Peter.  _ He wasn’t  _ ready  _ for Peter. He… he couldn’t. He wasn’t even supposed to be a superhero anymore.

“People are disappearing, Steve. People are missing. People who have families, and lives, and  _ homes _ . They’re criminals. But they’re still  _ humans.  _ They deserve for someone to be looking for them. So fuck you, Steve, because Tony’s  _ dead, _ and it  _ wasn’t  _ you fault, and you need to wake the fuck up to that fact.”

Steve could most definitely not breathe, and Natasha was most definitely crying. 4 things he could see, 3 things he could hear, 2 things he could feel.

He could feel the bench, underneath him. Cool metal and wood. He could feel the warm fabric of his jacket clinging to his skin. 

He could hear a cluster of birds chirping some broken form of song. He could hear the oh-so-cliche rustle of wind through tree leaves. He could hear Natasha’s crooked breathing.

He could see that his hands had stopped shaking. He could see the broken and bent blades of grass poking up through the gravel trail. He could see the way his sunburnt and rosy skin was peeling and flaking. It looked painful, but didn’t feel it, which was good. He could see the fading roots of Natasha’s red hair. They were tangled and unorganized, and he inhaled. In, and out. The forest smelled ominous. Like something bad was going to happen. 

Natasha stood up, brushing the imaginary dirt off her jeans.

“Tasha, wait! Can you-- can you give me three days? Three days. Then I’ll do it,” he choked.

“Steve, you don’t want to do it, I get it. You pushed Peter away for a reason. It’s okay, really. I can do it myself,” she said in a flat monotone, not quite processing what he had said. And no. No, she couldn’t do this herself. Her doing this herself was a very, very bad idea. He trusted Natasha, but not enough to believe that she’d be able to do this without hurting Peter.

“Three days. Give me  _ three. Days,” _ he said.

Natasha looked at him, bewildered and shocked. He was being serious. He was being  _ serious.  _

She let out a deep breath, and with it went her tension. She smiled.

“Okay. Three days. I can do three days.”

It was nice, being friends again.


End file.
